


Hear Me

by Pastel_Teacups



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Deaf/Mute!R, Jehan/Courf is minor, M/M, just a warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 05:43:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1155800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pastel_Teacups/pseuds/Pastel_Teacups
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras works in a coffee shop. A mysterious man comes in every afternoon and draws. Enjolras is entranced.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hear Me

Enjolras was, in a word, intrigued.

Every single afternoon, a man walked into the tiny, cramped cafe that Enjolras happened to be employed in and sat at the back table of the lobby, tugged out a sketchpad, and set to work. He didn’t ever order anything, only sketched. Enjolras had never seen any of the mysterious man’s works, but he had a distinct feeling that they were good. 

Enjolras usually worked afternoon shifts, even more so now that the man appeared only at that time. He always said hello when he walked in, but the other man only ever smiled and headed for his table in the corner.

Most afternoons, whoever Enjolras was on shift with would roll their eyes and tell him to gather his courage and talk to him. 

“What would I even say?” Enjolras had said one day, tugging his apron over his head. His shift was over, and the man was still sketching in his rapidly filling notebook.

“It doesn’t matter. You just need to say something to him.” Courfeyrac said, smirking when he saw Jehan enter through the back door, sweeping over to him in seconds and wrapping his arms around him. “Well, if it isn’t Monsieur Prouvaire. Where were you for morning shifts yesterday?” 

Jehan tried to twist out of the man’s strong grip, stumbling as Courfeyrac all but dragged him over so he could clock in, though he still didn’t have use of his arms. 

“I am not a slave to the Musain. And I had a very important prior engagement.”

“Like what?” Courfeyrac asked, swaying the trapped poet.

“A reading.” Jehan replied simply, and Courfeyrac stopped their spinning abruptly. 

“You abandoned me during peak for a _poetry reading?_ ” 

“Precisely. Now, if you’ll kindly let me go-” 

His hold on the blonde only tightened, and Jehan groaned. “I cannot believe this. I give you my heart, my very soul, my morning shift, and you just throw it all in my face.” Courfeyrac said, feigning hurt. “I believed in you-”

“You do realize we have actual work to do, yes?” Jehan asked, freeing a hand and picking up an apron from the hook on the wall. 

“No, we don’t. The only person in the lobby is Enjolras’ crush-” 

“Shut up.” Enjolras said sharply, gathering his bag and running a hand through his hair. 

“You should just go talk to him. It’s better to get to know him than just waiting around.” Jehan said, blonde braid swinging as he tried to rid himself of the human monkey on his back.

“Yeah. I mean if I’d never talked to Jehan, we would’ve just been work buddies. I mean, by now, the sexual tension would’ve choked you out if we weren’t relieving it in the bed-” 

“Enough.” Enjolras said, shaking his head. “I’ll go talk to him if you’ll stop telling me about your sex life.” 

“Deal.” Courfeyrac grinned, looking down at his poet. He’d hidden his face once the topic of sex came about, so the brunette settled for kissing his hair. “Now go, converse.” 

He finally relinquished his hold on the disgruntled blonde to push Enjolras towards the lobby, giving him a reassuring smile. 

He huffed and gathered all the courage he could muster, walking towards the corner table and standing next to it. 

The artist seemed to have noticed him, because he looked up and smiled just slightly. 

“Hi,” Enjolras said slowly, as if he was testing the waters. “Do you mind if I sit?” 

The mysterious man shook his head and nodded towards seat opposite him, watching Enjolras sit down. 

“Thanks,” Enjolras said, biting his lip. He vaguely wondered why the man hadn’t said anything in reply yet, but didn’t let it discourage him.

“So . . . what do you like to do? I mean, you must like drawing, obviously, of course. That was a silly questions. But I mean is there anything else you like to do? Play sports, anything? Well, you know what I mean, like hobbies. Other than drawing.” 

He said all of this very fast, and when he looked up to gauge the man’s reaction, he looked confused. Enjolras reciprocated the look, and watched as the man across from him leaned down and scribbled something on his notebook before sliding it across the table to Enjolras. 

There, in between pencil-sketches of coffee cups and Courfeyrac, Jehan himself, were words. 

_I didn’t understand any of that._

“What do you mean?” 

The man smiled, a bit amused, and took the notebook back for a few seconds. When he gave it back, there were even more words. 

_Hello, I’m Grantaire. I draw, paint, box, and am a deaf/mute._

Enjolras read over it twice, before sitting back. “Oh.” 

Grantaire nodded and pushed a hand through his hair, still smiling. 

There was a sudden shattering noise, and Enjolras spun around. 

Jehan stood behind the counter looking sheepish, waving a hand as Courfeyrac appeared with a broom, handing it to the poet. 

“Just a coffee cup.” Courfeyrac said, leaning against the counter with a smirk. “Nothing to worry about.” 

Enjolras chewed on his lower lip and turned back towards Grantaire, who was laughing soundlessly, eyes closed. Enjolras couldn’t help but laugh, too. He located the pencil Grantaire had been using, scrawling something down and sliding it towards him. 

_Are you busy? We could go have some dinner. If you want to, I mean._

Grantaire was still smiling as he looked down at the notebook, picking up the pencil and scribbling down a reply.

 _That sounds great._

Enjolras smiled brightly. _Do you want to go now? I’m off._

Grantaire nodded and stood, tucking his sketchbook away and looking to this new and strange man.  
\--  
All in all, Enjolras never really learned proper sign language. He learned a few simple phrases, like “good morning,” “hello,” and “welcome home.” But other than that, he was mostly clueless. 

They made it work. It was always silent, but never quiet. They used notebooks, post-its, napkins, anything that they could find. They always kept their conversations, and soon filled several notebooks with their discussions and debates and romanticism.

How they met, when they moved in together, when they got married, it was all recorded in their little books. 

Once in a while they’d tug them out and read through them, smiling and laughing at old memories. 

“Are you happy, Enjolras?” Jehan asked one day, still stuck in the same dead-end job they’d had in the beginning. 

“Yes,” Enjolras said without hesitation. “I’m very happy.” 

Grantaire looked up from where he was still sitting in the corner, and smiled softly. Enjolras smiled and waved softly, shaking his head as Jehan brewed coffee with a giggle. 

It seemed they got a happy ending after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all enjoyed this! I liked the idea of a deaf/mute!R


End file.
